


don't know what your hands are doin', i've been only thinkin' 'bout touch

by volchitsae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsae/pseuds/volchitsae
Summary: “you’re really invested in your tv show/book/etc and i don’t think you understand how much your absentminded petting is getting to me but like hell am i gonna ask you to stop“After practice with the Black Jackals, Atsumu really should've known better than to think that Netflix and Chill would involve anything other than properly finishing the episodes.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 549





	don't know what your hands are doin', i've been only thinkin' 'bout touch

Atsumu really should've known better than to think that Netflix and Chill would involve anything other than properly finishing the episodes.

He hadn’t _meant_ for things to get all hot and bothered, of course. Don’t put the blame on Atsumu here. It’s just a set of dominoes falling, the first starting with the weather. It’s a blisteringly humid summer evening on a day after practice with the rest of the Black Jackals, and Sakusa’s on the couch in their apartment flicking through the options on Netflix for something to mindlessly watch.

Atsumu’s just taken his second cold shower of the day to get the sweat off his skin. He saunters back into the living room and takes a moment to admire the sun reflecting off the tile of the kitchen floor to light Sakusa up a warm gold, curls frizzing in the humidity. Sakusa’s chin is in one hand and the other rests on his knee as he browses. He looks bored; that’s the second domino.

When doing anything other than existing would make them too hot, Atsumu figures it’s the proper time to annoy Sakusa. Most times are the proper time to annoy him.

Atsumu flops onto Sakusa haphazardly, the ends of his hair flicking stray drops of water across Sakusa’s thin white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The fan at the side of the room whirrs and ripples their clothes. Sakusa glowers and leans over to drop the remote onto the coffee table. Atsumu wiggles and shimmies until his head is properly situated in Sakusa’s lap and the rest of his body takes up what’s left of the couch, one foot up on the armrest and the other dangling off the edge.

“Omi-kun,” he murmurs, a lazy cat in all but physical form. “’M takin’ a nap. Put something borin’ on.”

“How it’s Made is not boring and I resent that statement.” Sakusa’s hands come down and poke at Atsumu’s ribs through the stupidly large armholes of his tank top, essentially open at the sides. He jolts a little and weakly bats Sakusa’s hands away; half because movement means he gets warmer, and half because he won’t say no to Sakusa’s hands on him.

“You resent most of my statements, Omi-Omi.”

“Add that one to the list, then.”

As Sakusa says, they’re watching How It’s Made. There’s just something soothing about the repetitive process of industrial manufacturing of random objects Atsumu’s never known he wanted to know how they were made. The narrator cheerily lists the topics: Pillows, shuttlecocks, decorative candles, and mints.

Polyethylene fluff floats onto the screen and is packaged mechanically into a strip of fabric that is cut into pillowcases.

Atsumu whistles. “Holy shit, our pillows go through that?” The assembly line shoots the completed pillows off into a large container. “Jesus. I’ll be more grateful from now on.”

Sakusa snorts and he starts spiking Atsumu’s damp tufts of hair upwards, fingers cool against Atsumu’s forehead. “Yours are memory foam.”

“They’re technic’lly yours. Got ‘em ‘cause Coach said he couldn’t stand lookin’ at your shit posture, r’member? Just so happens we’re in the same bed.” His speech slurs, brain fizzling out from Sakusa’s fingers combing along his scalp.

“Coach said we both have shit posture much more politely. Guess that means those pillows are ours.”

“Peak domesticity.” Sakusa makes a disgusted noise as a reply and Atsumu ignores it in favour of those fingers roving circular patterns into his hair and massaging at the nape of his neck.

He likes Sakusa’s hands, just as callused as his. His fingers taper thin and long and his knuckles are a little knobbier than Atsumu’s. All this makes is for a deeply satisfying petting situation happening here – petting in the true definition of the word, not the more salacious kind. Although Atsumu’s hidden fascination with Sakusa’s hands definitely bleeds into there, too, when he thinks of those fingers wrapped around his throat, his thighs, his cock.

Atsumu’s eyes widen at the television (which he isn’t really paying attention to) from the sheer speed at which his brain has slid into horny territory.

“Must be the heat,” he mumbles to himself, and grabs one of Sakusa’s hands and plants it back onto his face when Sakusa lifts them off to look at him questioningly. Sakusa resumes his absentminded movements and alternates between gentle tracing across Atsumu’s forehead and nose to more aggressive raking through his hair. The narrator drones on in the background.

“Is m’face soft enough for ya, Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa’s index fingers press into Atsumu’s temples and smooth down his jawline, the tip of his thumb sticking to the edge of Atsumu’s bottom lip. Atsumu opens his mouth to catch his fingers between his teeth.

“That has everything to do with my ten-step skincare routine and nothing to do with your face.” Sakusa presses the pads of his fingers into the points of Atsumu’s canines and wiggles his fingers free from Atsumu’s playful grip.

Domino three: Sakusa’s willing to join in on the banter. Atsumu imagines the weight of Sakusa’s fingers on his tongue and the heat that he feels from the weather finally pulls taut in his stomach, swirling lazily.

“Yeah, but the skincare is _on_ my face, so you hafta’ give it some credit.”

“Sure. It gets credit for existing.” Atsumu watches Sakusa blink back up at the screen and focus, hands moving back into Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu makes a deep satisfied purr that goes unnoticed.

As the episode plays, Atsumu’s arousal is stoked by the insistent and unpredictable patterns in which Sakusa’s hands come into contact with his skin. Sakusa traces patterns into the side of his neck, follows the whorl of his ear, presses firmly into his scalp. The soreness from practice drains out of him and leaves Atsumu feeling like horny putty. He almost laughs at imagining himself as a lump of soft clay with a tiny prick of clay sticking up to imitate his – er, actual prick.

It’d be rather rude of him to roll off the couch onto his knees and offer Sakusa a blowjob. Omi-kun deserves to be _seduced_ – something with a little finesse.

Atsumu gives it his best shot. It’s not great. Blame the heat.

“The machine starts by punching 16 holes in the perimeter of the shuttlecock tip,” the narrator says, as the feathers of the shuttlecock are assembled.

“I wouldn’t even get one piercing on my dick, let alone 16,” Atsumu says.

“The thread stitches the feathers together, helping the shuttlecock maintain its shape even as it’s getting slammed back and forth over a net.”

“Getting slammed over a net doesn’t sound comfortable. I prefer against walls.”

“What exactly are you trying to insinuate here,” Sakusa says, flat. His hands don’t stop so Atsumu doesn’t answer, just stretches a little, letting the warm feeling in his stomach travel to his fingertips and toes in time with the way Sakusa’s thumb drags down his Adam’s apple. His eyelids flutter open to see Sakusa’s stare fixed on the screen. A decorative candle is currently being carved with deft, sure strokes, colorful layers of wax peeled back to form elaborate flowers and butterflies.

Sakusa’s fingers press into his middle trapezius at the pressure point and Atsumu groans, not from arousal, but because practice has left him sore. Sakusa then really notices his situation.

“Really? Even during the candle carving?” Sakusa eyes his semi-hard erection with amusement.

“They’re just good with their hands, Omi-kun. Just like you are.”

Sakusa smooths his thumb over the softer skin just behind the hinge of Atsumu’s jaw and Atsumu sighs shakily. He shifts his head slightly when some of his hair itches and can feel Sakusa’s growing interest underneath him. Atsumu cocks an eyebrow when Sakusa doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Omi-kun.”

“Hmm,” Sakusa replies.

“Whatcha wanna do for dinner?”

Sakusa scoffs, resolutely watching the candle maker dip another candle core into wax. “Are you actually hungry right now?”

Atsumu shrugs as best he can and it jostles his head in Sakusa’s lap, causing him to huff because Atsumu’s cheekbone has nudged against his dick.

“Depends on what y’wanna eat.”

Sakusa begins nudging Atsumu off his lap and onto the ground. “I’m not going to bite. Try harder.”

“But what if _I_ like to bite,” he says, and lets Sakusa push him off with a laugh. He slides off the couch with all the grace and dignity of a sack of potatoes and throws out an arm for the small decorative pillow he was lying against, smacking Sakusa in the process.

“My bad. One sec, I promise it’s worth it, Omi-Omi.” Sakusa says nothing; barely reacts, even, to getting hit with Atsumu’s flailing limbs. Atsumu had insisted on buying the throw pillow when they were at the department store because the fringe reminded him of Sakusa’s wavy hair. He’d held up the pillow next to Sakusa’s magnificent glower and sent it to the MSBY group chat before tucking it under his arm and purchasing it alongside those memory foam pillows.

Now, he tucks it under his knees and settles in, a cherubic smile tugging smugly at the corners of his mouth as he frames his face with his hands and props his head up on Sakusa’s thighs. Atsumu blinks up at Sakusa not very innocently at all.

Sakusa’s fingers drum on Atsumu’s forearm. “I don’t see what’s very worth it about you blocking my view of the television,” he says.

Atsumu feels like he’s got goosebumps from the light contact and the hunger for a taste of Sakusa’s skin sharpens. “S’cuse you, this face is worth twice the price of the TV. This face alone earns Onigiri Miya so much profit from the advertisements.”

“You’re only on those advertisements because you wouldn’t leave Osamu alone when Onigiri Miya was planning poster ads in the train stations.”

“I _also_ advertise athletic wear, hair dye, and skincare.”

Sakusa's brow furrows, mouth curling in disagreement. “So do I. We do those ads as a _team_. I think you should be thanking me for the skincare ad, considering I was approached by them first.”

“Omi-kun, I was the first person who could vouch for your skincare routine. ‘Course they’d take me on.”

“I was the person who _developed_ said skincare routine, I can vouch for my own face,” Sakusa grouches, all bark and no bite. The peek of teeth through the growl makes Atsumu want to kiss him.

“What’re we even talkin’ about?”

The moles on Sakusa’s forehead raise with his eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to know? You started it. Dick piercings sound like they hurt.”

“Right,” Atsumu says, slapping Sakusa’s thighs once reminded of the topic and grinning at the way Sakusa flinches and shoves his knees into Atsumu’s chest to retaliate. “Lemme suck your dick, speakin’ of.”

Sakusa blinks. “How It’s Made is on.”

“Never said you had to stop watchin’,” Atsumu shrugs, hands coming up to toy with Sakusa’s waistband. “Just sit up straight and I can be down here. You work on that posture n’ whatever else Coach said at practice today.”

“Do not speak of our team with this proximity to my dick.”

“What wouldja’ like me to do instead with this proximity to your dick?” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows and shifts his weight. “Finally found a use for Omi-Omi the pillow, too.”

Sakusa covers his face with one hand. “That fucking pillow is as yellow as your dye job, it can’t be named after me.”

“So your dick is Omi-Omi-Junior, then? Also I paid for this pillow with my own goddamned hair dye advertisement earned money and I will name it Omi-Omi,” Atsumu declares, always overdramatic, and Sakusa’s face flickers between fond exasperation, incredulity, and genuine laughter. He leans over Atsumu and presses their mouths together roughly to shut Atsumu up.

The fourth domino and all the rest, because Atsumu sure isn’t counting: Sakusa kisses him first. Atsumu’s hands come up to keep Sakusa where he is, and he sucks on Sakusa’s bottom lip. The kiss opens up hot and slick and Atsumu sighs into Sakusa’s mouth with a pleased noise.

“You keep kissin’ me like this and your posture will never recover,” Atsumu murmurs, already somewhat breathless, and Sakusa snorts and straightens back up to lean his chin into one hand up on the armrest.

“Then you’ll just have to break my posture, won’t you?”

The way he’s looking down his nose at Atsumu, both interested and unimpressed, sharpens Atsumu’s grin into something sly and wicked.

“You’ll hafta tell me what’s happenin’ on the screen,” Atsumu says, a challenge in his otherwise deadpan tone. “How It’s Made is on, y’know. Can’t miss anything.” Sakusa rolls his eyes and his face settles into the same bored expression that Atsumu first saw when he came out of the shower.

Atsumu tugs at the waistband of Sakusa’s sweatpants, chuckling a little when Sakusa grimaces at his bare ass on the cloth of the couch. He’s quite glad Sakusa has foregone underwear, brushing his fingers against the curve of his erection and enjoying the weight of it in his palm. He leans in to suck new red marks next to the fading ones on Sakusa’s hipbones and inner thighs before tracing up the length of his cock with his lips and taking the first few inches into his mouth. Glancing up, Sakusa is unphased – for now.

“The candlemaker is carving a genuinely impressive hummingbird,” Sakusa says, gaze steady on the screen. The blue light mixed with the orange of the sunset casts strange shadows along his cheekbones and nose bridge.

Atsumu curls his hand around the base, inhales through his nose and sinks down until he can feel the head brush his throat, tongue pushing up against the thin vein that arrows down the length. He bobs up and down a few times to get into the rhythm and then sets a steady pace with all the tricks he’s got up his sleeve to make Sakusa break.

“They’ve cut off the drippings at the bottom to make a mushroom candle, and it doesn’t – it doesn’t look like one,” Sakusa continues, and Atsumu is not allowed to smile lest he break his frankly stellar technique he’s got here.

He hollows his cheeks on the way up and twists his hand on the downstroke, chases his hand with his mouth, and tastes the salt of pre-cum greedily. He can hear Sakusa’s breathing come heavier through his nose and the sound of his nails scraping against the cloth of the couch as Sakusa curls his hands into fists. Atsumu wants them on either side of his head, gripping his hair, pushing him down.

“Now there’s a windmill.” Atsumu notes the slight strain in his voice. “Honestly, seeing – seeing the wax makes me think that we should get that paraffin wax to dip our hands – _Atsumu_ ,” Sakusa breathes, hips jerking into the heat of Atsumu’s throat when he breaks rhythm and takes in as much as he can. He holds himself there to swallow around it and hums when Sakusa gives a deep groan.

He lifts off and a thread of saliva stretches from his mouth and the head of Sakusa’s cock. Sakusa’s mouth is open and mirrors Atsumu’s, his face flushed and panting from pleasure, and Atsumu watches his hands uncurl from their fists. One hand slides to cup Atsumu’s jaw and the other swipes at his mouth to clean it. Atsumu presses the heel of one hand down on his own ignored erection for some relief.

Sakusa’s fingertips pause at the cusp between Atsumu’s lips. Atsumu stares up and tilts his head as he presses a kiss to where Sakusa’s fingers bend at the knuckle, suddenly sweet, competition forgotten. The air simmers between them.

Sakusa’s eyes glint and he pushes two fingers into Atsumu’s mouth, quick and dirty. Atsumu gets out a muffled “Fuck,” before he swallows around the fingers pressing into his tongue. He’s rougher than when on Sakusa’s cock, teeth scraping across Sakusa’s knuckles as he sucks, and he fists Sakusa’s cock in both hands to pump in tandem with his mouth. Sakusa’s free hand grips at the hair at the back of Atsumu’s head. His fingers interlock with the blonde sections over his undercut and tug to crane Atsumu’s head back, fingers wet and dragging down Atsumu’s neck as Sakusa pulls them out of his mouth.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu murmurs, not sure what he’s asking for. Anything would be perfect as long as Sakusa doesn’t stop.

He puffs out a pleased chuckle when Sakusa pushes his head down gently and his chin bonks into Sakusa’s dick.

“Y’want me to swallow?” The blush on Sakusa’s face travels down his neck when he nods, and Atsumu does this weird shuffle to get up there and press a sloppy kiss into Sakusa’s neck before dropping back down. He grabs Sakusa’s hands and places them on either side of his head to get Sakusa to grip it.

“Come when’ver. I want it,” Atsumu says, and grips Sakusa’s knees with both hands when Sakusa pushes him down over his cock. His eyelids flutter and his eyes water from the pace Sakusa sets, but he relishes it, the pressure of his hands against Atsumu’s head and how good it feels to nearly choke around his length. All he hears is the unsteady ragged panting from Sakusa; the show fades out into white noise.

When Sakusa sucks in a breath and holds it, Atsumu focuses on relaxing his throat. He tastes salt on his tongue and swallows quickly. Sakusa’s eyes are screwed shut as he curves over Atsumu, lips brushing against Atsumu’s forehead when Atsumu lifts off and they narrowly miss slamming chin-to-forehead as they move back. Atsumu catches the sated expression on Sakusa’s face, eyes blinking blearily, and feels a smug smile pull at his mouth. 

“It’s over,” Sakusa mumbles, and Atsumu shoots up.

 _“What?_ ”

“The _episode_ ,” Sakusa scoffs, reaching out for the remote control but his arm flops uselessly when he can’t reach it, boneless after orgasm. “Go back to where we left off.”

“Oh, yeah.” Atsumu taps at the laptop on the coffee table and rewinds to the final product being made – breath mints.

They watch a bin of pale green powder get pressed into tablets.

“You need one of those,” Sakusa says.

“If I go brush and floss right now, can we make out?”

Sakusa groans and smacks him on the back, and Atsumu smothers his snicker into Sakusa’s thigh. He’s still slumped on the pillow on the ground and leaning against Sakusa’s legs.

Atsumu’s expecting that to be it, but there’s a heated pause from Sakusa and Atsumu shifts his head to look up at him. Sakusa’s looking away, staring pointedly at the screen as the mint candies are being packaged.

“Brush for the recommended two minutes and thirty seconds,” he says, and Atsumu snorts again into the side of Sakusa’s thigh before getting up. His knees crack with how long they’ve been on the ground.

They’re the longest two minutes and thirty seconds of Atsumu’s life, not made any easier with his erection demanding attention. The way Sakusa reaches out for him when Atsumu comes back to lick greedily into his mouth means Atsumu doesn’t really mind.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [stay away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybEODtj2E_8) by carly rae jepsen. can you believe CRJ made felt this way/stay away from the same lyrics and different producers? amazing.
> 
> if you've never watched how it's made which is one of my childhood favourite shows, here are the episodes mentioned in this fic:  
> [pillows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWMOaX6SHQY)  
> [shuttlecocks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czkDCBgZAns)  
> [decorative candles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQfeCrU-7LA)  
> [breath mints](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QstxI4NJl_E)
> 
> thank you for reading!


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